Hello Fanfiction.net! This is my second fanfic and my very first Harry
Potter fanfic. I don't own any of the characters in this story, but who
cares about that?
This story takes place during Harry's sixth year, so you may want to wait until you read Order of the Phoenix, if you haven't already, before starting on this story.
Well, here goes! The first few chapters may be rather confusing, but bear with me. It will all make sense in the end.
MOTH
CHAPTER 1:
THE CALL
It was a hot summer day in the middle of July. Harry was sitting at the table in the Dursleys' kitchen, eating a bowl of corn flakes, his uncle, aunt, and cousin all intentionally taking no notice of him, which was quite normal.
Uncle Vernon had his purple face buried in the newspaper, while Dudley was glued to the television screen, watching a pro wrestling match.
Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen and noticed her piggy son watching his precious box. "Don't forget to breathe again, dear," she reminded him, gently placing a bony hand on Dudley's fat shoulder.
"Okay," he mumbled in reply, without the slightest change of expression.
Uncle Vernon finally looked up from his paper with a look of satisfaction. "Nessie Project's failed to find anything in Loch Ness yet again," he informed his wife. "Big surprise. You think they'd know by now that nothing's in that lake."
Except kelpies, Harry thought to himself, trying hard not to smile.
"I suppose you're right," Aunt Petunia agreed.
Dudley grunted in approval, now inches away from the TV screen. One of the wrestlers on the TV had just leaped onto his opponent and began pulling at his hair, which Harry thought would have looked real if the wrestler howling in pain even had any hair to pull.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Aunt Petunia hurried towards it, picked the receiver up out of its cradle, and put it to her ear. "Hello...What the...."
"What?" Uncle Vernon grunted in annoyance, once again fascinated with his newspaper.
"Vernon, come and listen to this!"
Reluctantly, Uncle Vernon stood up and left his precious newspaper lying on the table. He took the phone from Aunt Petunia's bony hand and put it to his ear, but quickly pulled it away. "What in bloody Hell?" he said with a baffled look upon his beetlike face.
Overwhelmed with curiosity, Harry quickly and quietly walked out of the kitchen and towards the living room phone on the end table next to the sofa. He quietly picked the phone up off its cradle and put it to his ear.
"I can't make a word out of what the idiot's saying," Harry heard Uncle Vernon's voice grunt through the receiver. But neither could Harry. Whoever was on the other line was speaking so fast and with such nonsense that he or she sounded like a tape recorder being rewound.
"Where's that boy gone to?" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen. "Boy! Come here at once!"
Harry set the phone gently back into its cradle and headed into the kitchen, finding Uncle Vernon staring him down, his large fists balled up in anger, his face a shade of blood red. "What the devil did you do to our phone, boy?!" he roared.
"I didn't do anything!" Harry said truthfully.
"Don't play games with me! You've done...something...to make our phone sound all funny!"
"And why would I want to do that?"
"I'll be the one asking questions here! I say again, what did you do to our telephone?"
"And I say again, I didn't do anything! I can't use mag-the 'm' word- during the summer! And even if I did, which I didn't, I would have been expelled by now!
"From what I remember, you've already been expelled from that insane asylum!"
"And from what I remember, I was cleared of all charges at my hearing! And besides, there's no reason I'd even want to jinx your phone!" And he stormed out of the kitchen, not in the least bit surprised at how much of an idiot his uncle was.
***
Later on in the day, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had to attend the funeral of Mr. Fairmont, a distant relative of the Dursleys who had passed away.
Harry was left at home as usual. He didn't mind, having never known Mr. Fairmont. Neither did the Dursleys. Harry reckoned that they only went because Mr. Fairmont had left something to them in his will. Since Mr. Fairmont was very wealthy, the Dursleys couldn't resist going to his funeral, especially with the thought of inheriting a portion of his money.
Harry was watching the television when the phone rang. The Dursleys had forbidden him from using the phone ever since he was three years old, mainly because they didn't want people to know that he existed.
The phone rang once...twice...three times...and then, the answering machine switched on. "This is Vernon Dursley. I'm not here at the moment. Please leave a message after the 'beep'." BEEP. There was no message. For almost ten seconds, there was nothing. But then, from just beyond the static, Harry heard a soft, hoarse voice say, "Harry Potter...."
Harry's eyes opened wide. Why would someone be calling him? He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. "Hello?"
No answer.
"Hello?"
Still no answer.
"Hello?" he repeated, a bit louder.
Then, the soft, hoarse voice, barely audible, said, "Don't go to Hogwarts."
"What?"
"Don't go to Hogwarts."
This was really creeping Harry out. "Wh-who is this?"
"Don't go to Hogwarts." And then, whoever, or whatever, was on the other line hung up.
TO BE CONTINUED
This story takes place during Harry's sixth year, so you may want to wait until you read Order of the Phoenix, if you haven't already, before starting on this story.
Well, here goes! The first few chapters may be rather confusing, but bear with me. It will all make sense in the end.
MOTH
CHAPTER 1:
THE CALL
It was a hot summer day in the middle of July. Harry was sitting at the table in the Dursleys' kitchen, eating a bowl of corn flakes, his uncle, aunt, and cousin all intentionally taking no notice of him, which was quite normal.
Uncle Vernon had his purple face buried in the newspaper, while Dudley was glued to the television screen, watching a pro wrestling match.
Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen and noticed her piggy son watching his precious box. "Don't forget to breathe again, dear," she reminded him, gently placing a bony hand on Dudley's fat shoulder.
"Okay," he mumbled in reply, without the slightest change of expression.
Uncle Vernon finally looked up from his paper with a look of satisfaction. "Nessie Project's failed to find anything in Loch Ness yet again," he informed his wife. "Big surprise. You think they'd know by now that nothing's in that lake."
Except kelpies, Harry thought to himself, trying hard not to smile.
"I suppose you're right," Aunt Petunia agreed.
Dudley grunted in approval, now inches away from the TV screen. One of the wrestlers on the TV had just leaped onto his opponent and began pulling at his hair, which Harry thought would have looked real if the wrestler howling in pain even had any hair to pull.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Aunt Petunia hurried towards it, picked the receiver up out of its cradle, and put it to her ear. "Hello...What the...."
"What?" Uncle Vernon grunted in annoyance, once again fascinated with his newspaper.
"Vernon, come and listen to this!"
Reluctantly, Uncle Vernon stood up and left his precious newspaper lying on the table. He took the phone from Aunt Petunia's bony hand and put it to his ear, but quickly pulled it away. "What in bloody Hell?" he said with a baffled look upon his beetlike face.
Overwhelmed with curiosity, Harry quickly and quietly walked out of the kitchen and towards the living room phone on the end table next to the sofa. He quietly picked the phone up off its cradle and put it to his ear.
"I can't make a word out of what the idiot's saying," Harry heard Uncle Vernon's voice grunt through the receiver. But neither could Harry. Whoever was on the other line was speaking so fast and with such nonsense that he or she sounded like a tape recorder being rewound.
"Where's that boy gone to?" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen. "Boy! Come here at once!"
Harry set the phone gently back into its cradle and headed into the kitchen, finding Uncle Vernon staring him down, his large fists balled up in anger, his face a shade of blood red. "What the devil did you do to our phone, boy?!" he roared.
"I didn't do anything!" Harry said truthfully.
"Don't play games with me! You've done...something...to make our phone sound all funny!"
"And why would I want to do that?"
"I'll be the one asking questions here! I say again, what did you do to our telephone?"
"And I say again, I didn't do anything! I can't use mag-the 'm' word- during the summer! And even if I did, which I didn't, I would have been expelled by now!
"From what I remember, you've already been expelled from that insane asylum!"
"And from what I remember, I was cleared of all charges at my hearing! And besides, there's no reason I'd even want to jinx your phone!" And he stormed out of the kitchen, not in the least bit surprised at how much of an idiot his uncle was.
***
Later on in the day, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had to attend the funeral of Mr. Fairmont, a distant relative of the Dursleys who had passed away.
Harry was left at home as usual. He didn't mind, having never known Mr. Fairmont. Neither did the Dursleys. Harry reckoned that they only went because Mr. Fairmont had left something to them in his will. Since Mr. Fairmont was very wealthy, the Dursleys couldn't resist going to his funeral, especially with the thought of inheriting a portion of his money.
Harry was watching the television when the phone rang. The Dursleys had forbidden him from using the phone ever since he was three years old, mainly because they didn't want people to know that he existed.
The phone rang once...twice...three times...and then, the answering machine switched on. "This is Vernon Dursley. I'm not here at the moment. Please leave a message after the 'beep'." BEEP. There was no message. For almost ten seconds, there was nothing. But then, from just beyond the static, Harry heard a soft, hoarse voice say, "Harry Potter...."
Harry's eyes opened wide. Why would someone be calling him? He picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. "Hello?"
No answer.
"Hello?"
Still no answer.
"Hello?" he repeated, a bit louder.
Then, the soft, hoarse voice, barely audible, said, "Don't go to Hogwarts."
"What?"
"Don't go to Hogwarts."
This was really creeping Harry out. "Wh-who is this?"
"Don't go to Hogwarts." And then, whoever, or whatever, was on the other line hung up.
TO BE CONTINUED